Today was the annual dental check-up at which I get x-rays, cleaning, polishing, dentist chatting about his grandchildren while looking in my mouth, then he says nothing to do here. So they empty my wallet and I come home.
And, exactly like this time last year, in the exact same stretch of road, a loud clang which nearly sent me off the road, announcing low tire pressure. I guess the Fit has decided that this, too, is an annual occurrence.
On the way home was the farm, with cute figures, pumpkins to pick and other fall ideas.
Here's my haul.
Misfits is not due till Friday, managed to change back the delivery day, and I ran out of fruit. I tend to panic without fruit. Also tomatoes. The pumpkin is a sugar, pie, one. After it's served its purpose on the step, before the squirrels eat it.
And here's the wooden cat getting into the act, testing various ideas. No, I didn't make it. It's folk art, except made with power tools. I found it at the dumpster. It likes my step so it's lived here for years. The daisies are Montauk, the very last thing to come into bloom in my yard. My couple of square yards.
